Beatrix
by DocFaustus
Summary: Watson is left out of the details in a lot of things, and he's used to it. But he never expected this. Slightly AU guy Richie verse. Rated T to be safe


I'm baaaaack! I know I've been pretty…. Inactive, but with the fact of my grades dropping ever so slightly due to that fact of a freaking goddamn short-day that I didn't know about, haven't really had the opportunity to write. I'm also leaving for Salt Lake on Saturday, and hopefully, I can get a Markiplier's Hero's t-shirt… probably not, considering that my birthday present I want is pretty expensive, as is the shirt, but oh well. Such is life. Pleh.

ENJOY!

I own nothing. I DO own Beatrix, she's my OC

A Wild mass of brown hair and two toffee brown eyes alight with mischief was the first thing John saw when he walked into the chaos that was Holmes' room. He was greeted with the sight of a young girl in a black housecoat, holding a book in front of her. After getting over his initial sock of the new occupant, he looked around the rest of the room. The plants were back, and a large yellow and blue parrot sat on a pile of books. Watson had come to deliver the paper, a chore he had never formally been given, but he did it anyways.

"Oh," She said when she noticed him. "Hello." She dropped the book on a nearby table and flitted away, moving silently. She disappeared behind the mass of tropical plants, leaving a confused Watson.

"Hello?" John called, confused. He stepped into the room and moved a palm front away from his face with his cane.

"I wasn't expecting company," The young feminine voice of the girl said from somewhere in the mess of plants and books. She had an American accent. "I was promised a few hours of my own time to set up, but oh well."

"Set up what?" John asked, moving forward father. He tucked the paper under his arm.

"DON'T STEP THERE!" The girl shrieked, bolting out from behind a tall plant to halt John from stepping on an expertly concealed tripwire. She was about fourteen, and looked oddly familiar, with almost black hair and intelligent eyes. She was wearing a white shirt and vest, along with black trousers that were rolled up to her knees. A pair of scuffed leather boots lay next to the old used sofa.

"Here, step right there." She pointed to a small, inconspicuous pile of rubbish. "It won't set the wire off. Please, be careful, it would take me ages to set it up again, and Father would be home before I could get it right again."

"Father?" John questioned, shocked into stillness. The girl ignored him. She crouched down next to the wire and brushed it with a finger. It quivered and a slight mechanical click could be heard. She sight in relief.

"Perfect."

"Who are you?" John asked, impatiently, unimpressed by the theatrics. Still she ignored the question. Standing, she beckoned him over to the couch. Snatching the paper out from under his arm, she flicked it open.

"Come Watson, sit with me."

"How do you know my name?" John asked following reluctantly. The girl collapsed on the couch and sprawled out, the paper propped up on her knee. She left enough room for John, but he didn't accept her offering, so she shrugged and took up all the room.

"Your loss," She murmured, half lidding her eyes, letting them flick over the paper. "And as for how I know your name, it's quite obvious. There's a picture of you on the desk." She flicked her fingers tiredly, and John looked over to see the newspaper clipping from the Blackwood case.

"Now, I'll ask you one more time," John said, after dragging his gaze away from the clipping. "What's your name?"

"You never asked me that question previously, you asked who I was. Make up your mind, Watson."

"Your name," John said through gritted teeth. She was almost as infuriating as Holmes.

"Beatrix," The girl said, standing and throwing her coat out behind her. "Beatrix Holmes." She shoved the paper back into John's arms, bored of it and ignored his shell-shocked expression. Now that she has pointed it out, he could see the resemblance.

"H-Holmes?" Watson stuttered.

"Why yes," Beatrix said, looking pleased. "It must come as a shock, that your estranged friend had a child before you." John flushed at her remark.

"Your mother?" he forced out, still getting over his shock.

"Irene Adlers." Beatrix examined her nails uninterestedly. "I wasn't exactly planned, but hey, at least I wasn't raised in an orphanage."

"Holmes and… Adlers?" John said. His brain was still trying to catch up. It seemed impossible.

"Indeed. Honestly Doctor, a blind man would have seen the signs. When a man and a woman spend so much time with each other, and then suddenly stop, you must know something's up."

"I thought it was Holmes being Holmes," John confessed. Beatrix grinned and cocked her head.

"Most would," She said. Her head whipped around suddenly, and she sucked in a deep breath. The doorknob twisted and Holmes walked in. His hat was tucked under and arm and his cane as out in front of him. The similarities were even more pronounced now that they were face to face. Beatrix had her father's eyes and attitude. Her hair was slightly curled as well, but it was darker than her fathers.

"You promised me an hour," Beatrix accused, pointing a finger at her father.

"And an hour you received," Holmes replied, not missing a beat. He used his cane to point at the clock. Beatrix turned and saw that it was indeed, noon. An hour after her father had left. Watson's eyes flicked back and forth between the two as the argument progressed.

"That's hardly fair," Beatrix said, placing a hand on her hips. Watson desperately wanted to look down at the tripwire that Holmes as getting steadily closer to, but he knew the wrath of Holmes' child would be upon him. And if Holmes was vicious enough, his child would no doubt be worse.

"Life is hardly fair Trixie," Holmes said. Beatrix fumed, eyes narrowing at the nickname.

"I thought I said not to call me that _Sherly_," Beatrix said, emphasizing the degrading nickname of her father. Holmes chuckled, stopping just in front of the carefully concealed tripwire. Trixie's breath caught in her throat. Her father's cane shot out and pressed down on the wire. There was a mechanical click again; a hiss and three thin non-lethal arrows thudded into the wall.

"How did you see that?" Beatrix asked, accepting defeat and leaving Watson's side.

"I'm a detective Trixie, I see everything." Holmes' daughter rolled her eyes and left the room, black coat swishing behind her.

"Watson," Sherlock greeted cheerily, as if nothing had happened. He tossed his hat aside and propped his cane up on the wall.

"You have a daughter?" Watson fumed, striding towards his best friend. "Why wasn't I told?"

"Yes I do, and I didn't know you were privy to every detail of my life?" Sherlock glanced at Watson curiously as he shed his coat and donned the ratty orange one. Watson sighed and ran a hand down his face.

"I'm not Holmes, but it would have been nice to know."

"Honestly, It slipped my mind," Holmes said, snatching the paper out of Watson's hands and opening it up, just as Beatrix had done. He sat in the nearest chair and crossed his legs.

"Something like that doesn't exactly just slip one's mind," John snapped, glowering at the top of Holmes' head.

"Are you really getting bent out of shape, Watson?" Holmes asked, folding the paper down and glancing up to Watson.

"She's your daughter, she's practically my niece!" Watson exclaimed.

"Hm." Was all Sherlock said, flicking the paper back up.

"Did Mrs. Hudson know?" John asked, using his cane to pull the paper away from Holmes' face.

"Yes," His friend said, clearly irritated. "And before you ask, so did Lestrade."

"Was I really the last to know?" Watson asked eyes wide. He couldn't help but feel slightly offended.

"I honestly thought you knew," Holmes said, shrugging. "I assumed wrong. However, it's in the past, you now know, and he can just move on."

"How many times does she come by?" John questioned, pulling his cane away from the paper.

"About a week every year. The rest she spends with her mother."

"Irene," John stated, and Holmes nodded. John was about to say more when Beatrix burst into the room.

"Father, Archimedes has escaped," She gasped, chest heaving. Holmes threw the paper aside and bolted out of his chair. Watson knew better than to argue. He'd no doubt hear about it in the paper tomorrow.

"By your leave." Holmes smirked at Watson's dumbfounded expression and threw his housecoat off. He grabbed his hat, and both father and daughter were gone. John stared after them. Then shrugging halfheartedly, he picked up the discarded paper and sat in the previously occupied chair.

000

Okay, so if you want more, review. I'll do the recapture of Archimedes… hmm, I wonder what kind of odd animal he could be…. :D hope you like it, this little idea had been running around my head for a while now.


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